


I'm Hungry for a Fix

by afellowofinfinitejest



Series: Jerome Smut [4]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, POV Second Person, Porn With Plot, Reader-Insert, at least a smidge of plot, jerome is a creep but like a hot creep, reader is definitely a murderer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 19:13:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16687360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afellowofinfinitejest/pseuds/afellowofinfinitejest
Summary: Jerome visits reader in her Arkham cell each night.





	I'm Hungry for a Fix

Your first night in Arkham. Still confused, still on edge at the idea of being surrounded by murderers. It’s his hands drifting over the skin of your ankles pulls you from sleep. A scream starts to build in your throat at the sight of him standing above you, but before you can even open your mouth, Jerome is chuckling.

“Whatever noise you make, nobody will come.” You stare at him, your heart pounding to the extent that you think your chest is moving with the force. It takes him a second to register your alarm. Jerome hits his forehead, chiding himself, before returning his gaze to you. “Wait. That made me sound crazy, didn’t it? Scratch that. I mean the guards don’t care about screaming murderers. It doesn’t matter either way. If anybody here is going to hurt you, it’s not me.” 

With that, he sets about opening the buckles pressing your legs to the bed.

You had seen him during the day. Back hunched, head loose on his neck. He looked like an animal left caged too long. A smile only appeared after he glanced towards you, found you already staring at him. His face is the kind that is hard to look away from. It’s all sharp edges and symmetry except for the perpetually stray lock of hair. Even now, still confused from sleep, your heart beating in fear of his actions, you want to reach out. 

You want to touch. 

As Jerome pulls at the ties around your wrists, he speaks. “They’ll come by tomorrow. You’ll have to put them back on before then - you can do it with your teeth - or they’ll put guards on you all the time.”

“Why do you care?”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” Jerome laughs a little too loud, but doesn’t seem at all worried. The second you are free, his tone shifts. He traps your waist between his hands, pulling you up from the bed towards him. His lips touch at the top of your ear, the warm sting of his breath against your neck. “I want to kiss the life out of you.”

Scandalised, and braver now that your limbs are free, you push him away roughly. Jerome lets this happen without fighting, throwing his palms up. His mouth has stretched in a curve, opening up the bottom half of his face. 

“You’re insane.”

Jerome looks left, then right, gestures to the room, the building itself before doubling over. “You got me! Dead on!” He’s giggling as he moves towards the exit, but the sound drops off suddenly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, gorgeous.”

He closes the door with an unfriendly slam, then turns the handle to lock it. You stare at Jerome’s face through the small window, watch his grin as he morphs from almost friendly to unnerving before he vanishes.

The teasing doesn’t stop. Each night, he goes further. You can’t decide whether you hate him or fear him. Sometimes it’s both.

He goads you until you’re threatening him. As you thrash against your ties, telling him how wonderful it would be to break his neck, Jerome watches in fascination. He tells you that you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

Another day, he presses his fingers in to your mouth, explaining the cost of your freedom. His eyes never stray from your lips as you lick, suck, choke on his digits in the hope that he will untie you and leave for the night. 

On the night when you refuse to even speak to him, he presses his palm to the front of your throat, his fingers a curve on your neck. There’s pressure. It isn’t enough to choke you, but you feel the discomfort, the natural protest of your body. He has his torso pressed to yours. The heavy weight, the warmth of his body against yours isn’t unpleasant, especially since you haven’t had anything like this kind of touch since you were locked up. 

To be fair to him, he always lets you go. True, he vanishes through the door, leaving you to work on the restraints around your legs. He likes to wait until the last second, loves to see you lunge at him.

Attacking him during the day would be futile. He is surrounded, at all times, by a group of the worst people there. His friend, Richard, he tells you, is a millionaire who does what he wants. You think that this is how Jerome manages to get out of his cell, each night, and you curse Richard for handing him such power over you.

“You’re mine to kill,” you say to him, one of the nights, as he leans over you, taunting you with his freedom. You’re angry, practically growling at him, but as usual he remains immune to panic.

You knew he wouldn’t be scared, but you had assumed he would laugh at you. Instead, his eyes find yours, and there’s arousal there. “I’m happy to be claimed by you in whatever way you choose.” There’s a pause as he looks over your face. The curve of your lips pressed together, the small crease between your eyebrows caused by your scowl. Your whole body is tense, like a cat readying itself to pounce. “You look so wonderful when you’re turned on. I bet you look like a fucking Goddess when you cum.”

Your grimace deepens, but he catches the soft movement of your hips. 

“Are you feeling frustrated, gorgeous? I could help, you know.” Jerome leans forward until he could taste you with one movement. He tugs at the restraints on your left hand, loosening it enough that, if he were to move his grasp from your arm, you could struggle free. “You know why I come here each night? I take a risk just to see that face - there it is, all rage and defiance - so I can picture it about it when I jack off later.” You flinch at the vulgar language, nothing close to his references to your own arousal. The image of him, hand around his cock, head back, the length of his neck exposed, forces itself in to your mind. “I think about how you pretend not to be aching. I think about pulling up that skirt, getting a taste of you. How desperate you would sound if I got you on your knees.”

“Stop it.”

“Why? Does it make you uncomfortable? Or does it make you frustrated that you have to keep up this pretense? Don’t worry, I won’t remind you of your pride when you decide to just beg.”

“You’re the desperate one.”

“I am desperate for you. But I can smell your want from here.”

You press your thighs together. If he’s telling the truth, you want it to stop, want to hide anything he can hold over you. The underlying reason, the one you try not to think about, is that the need for friction taunts you. His words, crude though they may be, go straight through you, stoking the heat between your thighs.

“Get out or I’ll start screaming.”

“We’ve already been through this, doll.” He turns his head at your naivety. “I told you; they don’t come running for screaming murderers.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Oh! Oh, yes! Harder! Yes, fuck me, I’m going to cum for you, make me cum! Oh, God! It’s so good!” You stare at him while you cry out. The sound of footsteps against linoleum sounds from down the hall. 

Jerome smiles with closed lips. “Oh, well played.”

The second he is gone, you silence your groans, keeping your left hand in the loose binding until after a guard looks in on you through the small window on the door. 

The moment you have your hands free, you reach under your skirt. Moving your hips gently, as quietly as possible, you rub at your clit. The feeling of relief builds to pleasure. You haven’t had release in days and every thing he comes out with only makes it worse. Without thinking, you press your own palm to your jugular, picturing the press of different fingers around your throat. 

How desperate you would sound if I got you on your knees.

“Fuck.”

Thinking of him feels like failure. You try not to, but there he is. Flashing eyes, canines on display. It takes barely any time at all to quietly give in and start whispering his name in your mind as the warmth between your legs starts to spread. A whine escapes with your finish. Thighs shake, hips jerk. The appeasement is palpable, leaves you breathless, but it’s still not enough, not like somebody else’s fingers or tongue, not like being filled. You groan in frustration.

You want to go after him. You want to take him where he stands. You want to beg. 

You have to convince yourself not to act on your desires. In your head, there’s a violent refusal to let yourself be overwhelmed by grins and dark promises.

It doesn’t quite reach the rest of you. 

He’s different, the next time he visits. Jerome doesn’t mock you, or run his hands over your face. Instead, he touches at your ankles, thumbs the skin edging on the buckle. He glances at you, doesn’t even smirk.

“Missed you, gorgeous. Did you miss me?”

You press your lips together, deciding not to respond when his tone is the way it is. His voice, deeper, smoother, as if he expects sometimes from you.

“You avoid me during the day, don’t you?” His nails drag roughly up from your foot, leaving angry red lines along your shin. You gasp at the sharp pain. It dulls, but not before he’s above your face staring at you. “I used to assume it was because you really didn’t like me, but I’m thinking I was wrong.”

His eyes are flashing again, saturated with arousal that leaves you unable to turn from him.

“I bet you touch yourself when I leave.” Jerome murmurs, lips pressed suddenly against the softest part of your neck. In the space your silence provides, his teeth pull at the smooth dip above your collarbone until you’re gasping. Jerome moves his head, nose drifting under your ear. His warm breath flows over your skin when he next speaks. “You do. You press those fingers to your clit and you think about me. You think about how much you want me to fuck you into this bed. You think about my cock, filling you up, how much better it would be if I were touching you.”

A quiet moan escapes from the back of your throat, lips closed tightly in protest. Jerome catches the noise with a grin, continuing, “I could make you cry with my tongue, gorgeous. Want to look at you from between your legs, see your tears. I bet you’d sob so pretty for me.”

“Jerome.”

He starts to untie the bonds strapped to your ankles, digging his fingers in to the soft flesh of your calf. The sound you make is halfway between surprise and pleasure. “What do you want? Use that mouth, I know you can.” He bites at your ankle. “I’ve heard the filth you come out with before. No need to shy away now.”

If your choice to refuse him used to be about pride, surely that must be long gone. He can see under your skirt now. He can hear the noises you’re trying desperately trying to hide. In a sudden movement, Jerome has his nose pressed to your thigh, breathing you in. His face is so warm. His hands, so sure under the curve of your knees. You mewl softly.

“Anything. Want anything from you, Jerome, fuck-” You anchor your feet to the table, moving your hips in the direction of his mouth. “Want to cum for you, just for you. Please - give me your tongue.”

Surrender has never been so sweet. Jerome groans in satisfaction. He has your panties off your legs in a second, pushing your skirt up past your hips rapidly. Jerome bites at the skin to the side of your sex, earning a quick gasp before he presses his tongue against your clit. You’re tugging at the restraints, wanting desperately to grasp on to his hair, anything to pull him closer, deeper. You settle for moving your hips, finally letting yourself keen for him.

“Shhh, gorgeous.” He looks up at you, smile sharp on his face as he rubs your clit. “Don’t want a repeat of the last time you moaned for me.”

Instead of letting you silence yourself, he reaches his fingers up, presses them past your lips. You starts to suck on them immediately, lathing your tongue over your own taste. 

Jerome is thankful by the change in how you react to him, as much as he is satisfied by it. He doesn’t tease you, doesn’t want you to think of this as anything other than fucking perfect. He promised, after all, to give you what you what you want, not to mock you when you decided to beg.

Jerome gives a wide lick up past your sex, groaning at the new taste of you. His teeth graze your clit while he presses himself down on the table, but it only makes you keen all the more. When your thighs start to twitch, he takes his fingers from your tongue, moving them down your neck and across your collarbones. Then, he wraps his arms around your thighs, pulls you flush against his mouth. Jerome sucks on your clit with a sense of finality that makes you cry out. You cum with a gasp and a whine, focused on the tight-warm-sharp snap inside you, then immediately give him your attention back. 

“Untie me.”

Jerome laughs, giving your cunt one last lick just to make you jump. He reaches down his pants, wrapping his hand, still slick with your spit, around his cock. “I don’t think you’re in the position to be making demands, dirty girl.”

His cock is hard in his hand, wet at the tip. He pleasures himself teasingly, twisting his hand at the end and giving a tight, cut off groan. You know what he wants. You feel unusually ready to give it to him. “You make me feel so good, Jerome. Want to make you feel good.” A pause, a soft whine, then, “Will you let me? Please?”

“Fucking- you’re the devil.” You grin as Jerome leans over your, removing his pants before pressing his hips to yours. He grinds against your wetness as he undoes the buckles keeping you down. The last thing he expects is you to kiss him the moment you are free, but he accepts the touch, opens his mouth so you can taste him. Your lips are soft, eager against his. It occurs to him only after you pull away that his tongue was slick with your taste, and he groans when you lick your lips. You bunch your skirt further up your waist, opening your legs to rest your knees at his hips. “Talk to me, gorgeous.”

“Can’t stop thinking about it, Jerome. Want you to fill me. Want you-”

You reach down, moving your hand over his cock, rubbing the tip around your sensitive clit. It’s the blissful smile on your lips that makes Jerome cover your hand with his, watching your face like a man obsessed. You take him inside you with a whine, immediately clenching around him violently. “Oh.”

Jerome can’t even think to move his hips. His mouth lies open, his jaw set. The tight wet heat of you around him overwhelming his senses. You’re the one to raise your hips, letting your head fall back when you press down. 

“Look at you. You’re fucking dripping for me, I can feel it now.” His breath comes in bullets. Jerome’s arms circle your waist as he starts to move you himself. “This is what you need, isn’t it? This is what you wanted since the moment you saw me. Can’t hide it anymore, how desperate you are for my cock. Tell me.” You cry out, latching on to his hair and pulling. He slaps the curve of your ass with his palm, watching the shock register then fade behind a quiet groan. Your pleasure, brought on by pain, only pushes him forward, digging his fingers in to your skin roughly. “I said, tell me.”

Your pride is gone, lost to his tongue and his fingers and his cock, pressing and rubbing along every sensitive spot inside you. The feeling of being filled, of having him act finally on his teasing, is what makes you respond.

“I am - I’m fucking desperate for you. Want anything you’ll give me, want everything from you. Fuck- anything, give me anything.” The request has barely made it out of your lips before he has his hands wrapped around your throat. He constricts your breathing in short periods, letting your roll your hips over him. You keep pulling frantically at his hair, soft noises escaping you whenever you can breathe. “Jerome.”

“You’re so tight - fucking hell. Your cunt wants filled, doesn’t it?”

You can’t bear the idea of being empty when you cum. The thought of finishing without the perfect stretch his cock brings makes you whimper pathetically. “Yes, yes, cum inside me. Fill me up, want it- Please.” 

Watching you, mouth hanging open, listening to your incomplete sentences, has him groaning, setting his jaw in determination to keep you like this. He wants to make you feel so good that you beg for him again and again and again in the future. He wants you never to think about anybody else when you touch yourself. He wants your thoughts to fly to him at night, in the morning, whenever you need release.

Jerome uses one hand to rub viciously at your clit until you’re crying out, the pleasure shifting suddenly from your sensitive nerves to your stomach, your thighs, your whole body. Your cunt clasps down on his cock in waves as you come. Jerome doesn’t register your whimpering until you’re pushing his hand away in sweet pain. His eyes are fixed on where you are joined, watching his cock vanish inside you as he finishes, rolling your hips in small circles to keep that perfect friction going as long as he can.

Your body is twitching as you raise your hips from his, your breath coming in short gasps. His hair is damp with sweat from both his head and the palms of your hands, your fingers still tangled in bunches. 

Jerome’s sudden laugh resonates around the room until he stops to breathe. Even then, his torso is shaking with humour as you release his hair.. 

“I don’t know about you, doll, but I like to cuddle after sex.”

“Surely you’ve had your fun.” It’s half playful, half serious. The relief at giving in has waned. You are left in a state of partial embarrassment at how fully your attitude towards him changed when he said the right words just the right way. 

To your relief, Jerome seems steadfast in his promise not to remind your of your pride, now lost.

“Uh-uh,” Jerome climbs over you again, presses you down to the table. You clasp on to his back as he bites lightly at your jaw, feeling the movement of his shoulder blades under your fingers. “I’ve still to make you cry for me.” You take a chance, darting up to bite his bottom lip in response. Jerome grins, licking at your tongue quickly when you let him go. “Oh, you’re mine now.”

“I’m not anyone’s,” you answer, pressing your hands against his shoulders, flipping the two of you you over. You rest yourself on your knees either side of him. “You’re a good fuck.”

Jerome snaps up, wraps his arms around your waist almost possessively. “I had you begging for it like a fucking whore.” He passes his hand over your clit expertly, eyes lighting with joy when you flinch, involuntarily moving your hips towards him. “I’ll have you begging for it again.”

You gasp his name, your head falling back in delight of his touch.

“You have one more for me, don’t you? Yeah, desperate girl, always searching for another.”

He doesn’t touch your wetness, only the swollen pink nub above. The orgasm comes quicker, less intense, the pleasure spreading no further than your oversensitive clit. Still, you find your hips rolling. You’re searching for his mouth before you can think about it, licking at his lips until he opens for you.

“I thought you were going to make me beg,” you tease through a soft laugh, watching the way he grins at you, for you.

“We have lots of time, and I’m not letting you run away from me,” he says, staring at the redness of your lips. If there’s a darkness to his promise, it is lost in your post-orgasm haze. “Now, about that cuddling.”

**Author's Note:**

> This can be read, along with my other Jerome writing, on my tumblr, afellowofinfinitejest


End file.
